


All Your Hopeless Hearts

by lighterdenial



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Concussions, Content Warning: Ianthe Tridentarius, F/F, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Head Injury, How do vampires maintain muscle tone? find out, I really wrote her like a gaslight gatekeep girlboss sorry, I will be updating tags as plot happens to me, I wrote this for me and if you enjoy it... sublime, Lesbian Vampires, Light Angst, Soup, Trauma, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, author is Catholic but like... lesbian Catholic, mild handwaving of fighting scenes but I did act these out so there's that, not beta read we die like cavs, possibly a little OOC, rated T and up for violence, so happy that tag exists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29920296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighterdenial/pseuds/lighterdenial
Summary: Catholic vampire hunter Harrowhark Nonagesimus is out to even the score after the death of her parents with the help of fellow hunters Abigail Pent & Magnus Quinn, Palamedes Sextus, and Camilla Hect. She has a perfect plan for her life - piety, vampire slaying, prayer, solitude, and vengeance.Good thing Harrow's life is not going to go as planned.
Relationships: Abigail Pent/Magnus Quinn, Camilla Hect & Palamedes Sextus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, they're lifelong hunting partners not dating
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	1. Our Lady of Sorrows

Harrowhark Nonagesimus had a very unusual childhood. Unusual in the raised-by-vampire-hunters-to-be-a-vampire-hunter way, and unusual also in the way that she was a solemn little adult almost from the moment she became conscious that she was really a person, around age three or four. 

Her earliest memories were her father and mother poring over old books, ancient vampire hunter texts handed down from their parents and the parents before them, all the way back as far as the Ninth line stretched. Allegedly, to the time of Jesus. Possibly before. Her second earliest memories were of her father and mother saying their sacred prayers of protection, putting on silver crosses, strapping silver knives to their thighs and wrists, arming themselves with stakes and guns (because silver bullets killed just as easily as a stake), and giving her the rare, dry-lipped kiss on her forehead before telling her firmly to be good and that they would return. And they always did, sometimes covered in blood (often their own), occasionally injured, once, spectacularly, with her mother missing a finger but otherwise unharmed.

As Harrowhark grew older, she became a sort of medic-librarian-vampire hunter, studying her parents’ books and organizing as she went into their massive library, patching them up every time they went out and came back injured with one less vampire – or many less vampires – in the world. She became quite good at first aid and quite knowledgeable about the practice and lore of vampire hunting as a result. She was devout. Practically the only times she left the house were to attend Mass weekly. She wore her crosses and went to sleep with prayers on her lips of locked tombs and bodies that stayed dead. Her earliest, most devout, and most often prayer: “I pray the tomb be locked forever, I pray the rock is never rolled away, I pray that which was buried remains buried…” Then she started on her Hail Marys. 

When she was thirteen, Pelleamena and Priamhark took her on her first vampire hunt. They outfitted her in traditional gear, all-black with sturdy boots, silver weapons (including, for her times of direst need, a neat row of freshly pierced silver earrings from her lobe to her cartilage on both ears), a sturdy leather jacket to serve as body armor, and the traditional face-paint of the vampire hunter: a lurid, grinning skull. 

“We deal death to the deathless,” Pelleamena said solemnly, wiping the grease paint across her daughter’s face. “You will become the greatest vampire hunter the Ninth House has ever seen.” Harrow sat still, unwilling to move a muscle, and realized that this was her transition into adulthood. 

Hours later, she returned victorious with both parents. Exhausted, heart racing and limbs still shaking, she carried with her the dead heart of the first vampire she ever killed. It was to be preserved in an airtight glass box as tradition dictated. Priamhark and Pelleamena kept the preserved hearts of their first kills above their marital bed. 

For several years, Harrow believed what her parents had said to be true wholeheartedly. It was evident that she was the greatest vampire hunter the Ninth had ever seen. She had youth, knowledge, skill, and the steady backup of both parents on her side. She had a hand that never faltered to stake the undead and a sixth sense that never failed to tell her just where a vampire, or nest of vampires, was hiding. She was an expert tracker. She was undefeated. 

That is, until the only thing that could defeat her did: she lost her parents. 

Although no one could charitably say they loved each other, the family had protected each other out of a generations-long commitment to finding and killing the undead. They had trained her to be an unstoppable vampire-killing machine, with them at her sides. She had always known that they would be killed eventually, was prepared for it even, ready for it to happen within the next decade – she was only nineteen and knew how human bodies tended to break down and become slower with age, and although Pelleamena and Priamhark had only been twenty-two when she was born, they were in their forties. She expected them to fall at the hands of a vampire she would stake a heartbeat later.

She did not expect it to happen in an instant, when she was so young, and by a vampire so powerful she was unable to get neither glimpse nor a name. 

And she did not know why.

This was the beginning of the grief and rage-filled years for Harrowhark. Where she threw herself into her studies. She burned her parents’ corpses, far away from any soul living or undead, as hunter custom dictated. Harrow did not cry. She wondered if she could cry. 

Letters came for her when the news of her parents’ deaths spread, from Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn, records-keepers and armory-maintainers, inviting her to join their team of vampire hunters. With them came Camilla Hect and Palamedes Sextus, talented hunters slightly older than her who joined Abigail and Magnus after the death of their childhood friend to vampires. Inviting her to move into their home, bringing all her books, weapons, and knowledge. The books Harrow gave as a gift. But instead of moving in, she got a studio apartment in the heart of the city to live alone.

She kept everyone at arm’s length. She rarely spoke of her parents but studied their notes obsessively, pulling the oldest books from her family history to become better and better. She hunted down and killed every vampire that had the misfortune to cross her path. She became like a machine, and for a little while, she almost was. 

Abigail Pent brought her new books in her austere little studio apartment, Tupperwares full of spaghetti and casseroles and half-loaves of bread that her husband baked, furniture that wasn’t bookshelves or the bed that Harrow had brought from her parents’ home. Blankets, warm blankets, because Harrow kept her apartment cold as a tomb year-round. Persistent invitations round her home for dinner. Harrow began to take them.

She found an intellectual companion in Palamedes, and a training companion in Camilla, though she rarely said much that wasn’t directly relevant to their studies or their fights. She still remained withdrawn in her shell, closed off. Nights, she obsessively chased the answers the sought in her parents’ research and notes on vampires, poring over their journals, their letters to one another. She wanted to be better, be stronger, to avenge them. So that their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. The Nonagesimus fortune, large in the times of her grandparents and great-grandparents, began to wear thin. Harrow worried that she might have to hire her talents out, or worse, get a day job.

“Come on a hunt with us,” Camilla said abruptly one day after training. “Pal and me. We need a third set of eyes on the Tridentarius nest.” Harrow looked up, surprised. “Abigail and Magnus are not cut out for this type of hunt. I’ll get straight to the point. We know you’ve been hunting alone, and we know how many kills you’ve racked up. Two hundred or more by twenty-one, Harrow, that’s no small number. I want you to watch my back on this hunt. And more afterwards, if we succeed.” Harrow looked at her, held her gaze for a long moment. 

“Tell me more,” she said, and relaxed a small amount further into Camilla’s company. “About the Tridentarius clan.”

“Over supper,” Camilla promised. “With Abigail, Magnus, and Pal.” Harrow nodded. 

Magnus was a superb chef and well-in-tune to the needs of hungry, active vampire hunters. Lots of lean protein, carbs, and vegetables, food to build muscle. As usual, Harrow ate the exact bare minimum to maintain her body and not a bite more. He had prepared potatoes with rosemary and garlic, roasted until brown and crispy, chicken cooked in a lemon-wine sauce, as many green vegetables as anyone wanted, and a heaping basket of beautiful brown rolls. Harrow carefully scraped most of the sauce off a piece of chicken and seven small potato pieces before placing them beside one unbuttered roll and ten green beans. An exact science.

“Harrowhark is sustained mostly by her burning hatred for vampires,” Abigail needled, but kindly, slipping a few more green beans and another potato on her plate. “But even the most devoted among us need to eat.” She filled her own plate, spooning the thin sauce across her meal, and passing the breadbasket to Magnus, who was known to never skimp on the fruits of his labor. He kissed her lightly on the cheek as thanks. 

“So – about this hunt,” Harrow said, swallowing a piece of chicken. “Tridentarius. What do we know?” She was suddenly brutally aware that she was the youngest person at the table by several years, and that she was strikingly alone. Seeing Camilla and Palamedes, and Abigail and Magnus together, sometimes made her feel that way. 

“We know about the leader – Ianthe. We got word about her last month. The last one we killed knew something.” Palamedes toyed with the crucifix at his throat. “It’s gotten to the point where we have to take her out now if we want any chance of ever taking her out. She’s getting stronger – more people have gone missing in the last month than the whole past year combined. I thought we would have more time before we faced a nest like this, but I was wrong. Your parents took out some impressive nests of their own in their day.” Harrow inclined her head briefly at their memory. 

“How many are in her number?”

“We’re not sure,” Abigail began, “but Magnus and I have been charting and calculating how many vampires would be feeding from the number of reported missing persons cases within the last ninety days, and we’re thinking it’s not just two or three. At least ten. Maybe more.” A nest of three was a marked threat to any hunter, even talented hunters like Camilla, Palamedes, and Harrow, but a nest of ten was formidable indeed. “The good news is that at least five are newborn, likely not as dangerous as the older ones.” 

“I think it’s likely that Ianthe is building an army,” Magnus said, “and we’re already outnumbered. We need to act soon. This week, if possible.” Camilla sucked her teeth loudly. 

“This week? You aren’t kidding,” she said with a short, sharp laugh. “I knew Tridentarius would be a bitch, but I didn’t know you were this serious.” 

Palamedes looked down his nose through his glasses. “I’m not sure we’re going to be ready by the end of this week.” 

“We’re going to have to,” Magnus said. “Or else we might not get another chance. She’s building an army.” 

“So be it, then,” he said, reaching for another piece of chicken. “We’ll have to be ready.” 

“Have some more potatoes, Harrow.” Harrow did not want any more potatoes, but she forced down a few bites for Abigail’s sake. 

“Fine,” Camilla said. “I’d rather be done with this sooner than later.” 

“What’s the plan?” Harrow asked. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Like I said before, I need you to watch our backs. Abigail and Magnus will be staying behind to direct us in logistics. They’ll be on the phones and the cameras. We’ll all have earpieces, and they can tell us if things are about to go south.” 

“Eyes and ears,” Magnus added. “If everything goes smoothly, you’ll hardly even need us.” 

“We’re going to ambush the den at eleven in the morning to give us time until high noon, if need be.” High noon. The time of day when vampires were at their weakest. It made sense. “We need you to stand guard at the mouth of the nest once we go in. We’ll try to drive them out towards the mouth, and you’ll be waiting at the entrance. We’ll be right behind them. It should be as easy as trapping rabbits, only with longer teeth.” Abigail laughed lightly at her own little joke. “But we’ll need to have strength in numbers if we want to pull this off. And good fighters, too.” 

“When?” Harrow put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. 

“Hopefully, in three days. Sooner, if we can.” 

“I’m ready now,” she said, determined. “Whenever you are.” 

-

Three days later, Harrow rose early for her morning prayers. She prayed the rosary, just as her parents taught her, the Hail Marys and Our Fathers dropping from her lips like second nature while she stretched. She polished her silver daggers and strapped them to her legs, the worn leather reminding her that they used to be her mother’s. Harrow wore several pieces of her parents’ hunting gear. She had gone over their belongings after their deaths, taking what she knew would fit her, that she would use. It’s what they would have wanted, she rationalized. They would have wanted to equip her with the best. And anyway, it was the closest she’d ever gotten to love from them – Pelleamena teaching her how to wield daggers and stakes, Priamhark guiding her hands in prayer. She knew the names of saints as well as she knew the names of the bones that moved under her skin, better than second nature. 

She dressed mindlessly, first a high-necked tight shirt that covered her to her chin, then sturdy black pants, solid, worn boots, a slim vest for added padding, all her various weapons and the two pistols at her hip – solid black things, one belonging to each of her parents – and then finally her leather jacket and gloves. She pulled her fingers through her short black hair. It was almost time to shave it back down, she thought idly. Finally, offering up her final prayers to God, she slicked on the paint that was almost more important than the protective layers of clothing she wore. A mark of who she was, and where she came from. None of the other hunters wore it, but she kept to the old ways. 

Harrow left her apartment and walked the two blocks to Abigail and Magnus’ small house, greeting those waiting inside with a terse nod. There was breakfast, and she gingerly allowed Magnus to fill her plate; she would need her strength for the coming fight. She still felt, privately, that she knew too little about this hunt to be moving so fast. 

“Did you sleep well, Harrowhark?” Palamedes asked. “I slept like the undead. I always sleep well before a hunt.”

“Yes,” she replied tersely. “I’m fine.” White-knuckled, she gripped her father’s rosary in the pocket of her jacket. 

“Are we ready?” Camilla asked, coming down the steps. She had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and Harrow supposed it was full of weapons. “I’m driving,” she said. Just as well. Harrow had never bothered to get her license. 

The car was tight, especially with weapons. Harrow had to sit in the middle. Of fucking course Camilla Hect would own a Prius. 

The nest was far from the city by their standards, thirty miles out. Some vampires chose to set up farther away and travel because it was less likely they’d be caught, and their meals traced back to them. Others preferred to be immediately in the city, skulking in the poorest parts of town where no one looked too close at the missing persons list. Harrow preferred the vampires that lived in the city, partially because she relied upon public transit or her own two feet to get around, and partially because she knew they were often less cunning and more desperate. Easier to kill a starving vampire than a smart, well-fed vampire.

The Tridentarius vampires were definitely not starving. 

They parked Camilla’s Prius in the back of a small store, and Camilla went inside to greet the owner. After a few minutes, she came back out with a black duffel bag. Opening it up, she began to pass out more silver bullets in various sizes. 

“The storekeeper tipped me off about the nest,” she said. “He used to hunt, but he’s getting too old, he said. This was the least he could do to help us. He’s retired now, runs a little armory for people like us out of the back of his store.” 

“Give him our thanks,” Palamedes said, sliding the clip into a semiautomatic rifle that he slung over his shoulder. Harrow took a box of silver 9mm bullets and put them into the pouch at her waist. If she needed more than fifty bullets plus whatever was in her magazines for ten vampires, she would be a very bad – and then very dead – vampire hunter indeed. 

“According to him, the nest is just a mile into the woods,” Camilla said, pulling out a folded map. “Should actually be right down the trail, and then off it for several hundred feet.” 

“Let’s get this over with quick,” Palamedes said, loading bullets into a revolver, then holstering it at his hip. Beside her, Camilla was inspecting a long, curved silver knife. 

“Harrow, you remember the plan?” Camilla checked. “Let’s check in with Abigail and Magnus before we start.” Their earpieces crackled to life as they turned them on one-by-one. 

“This is Palamedes.”  
“Camilla Hect, checking in.”  
“Harrowhark.” 

“We read you all loud and clear, this is Abigail – “  
“– and this is Magnus. No issues on our end. Are you all armed and ready?” Harrow placed her hands on her two pistols, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. She felt her rosary beads on the inside of her shirt pressing against her collarbones and sent up a quick prayer just in case God was watching over her. Or more likely St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes. Or maybe no one at all.

As they walked, silently, Harrow couldn’t shake the feeling that she, specifically, was being watched. Not that they were being watched, but that someone was following her. It was only a half hour’s walk at their pace to the nest, and like always, the hunters could smell the old blood before they could see the nest. The mouth of what was once an abandoned house or cabin loomed. It was deceptively small, but Harrow knew that there was always more than meets the eye to a vampire nest. It was doubtless bigger on the inside. 

“Get down,” Camilla whispered. “Positions.” She drew her twin blades. Everyone else readied themselves. 

“It’s a go from our end,” said Abigail through the earpieces. “and may God make your aim true.” 

In several fluid moments, Palamedes and Camilla entered the nest without a sound, leaving Harrow as guard to the entrance. The youngest vampire hunter drew both pistols and set up guard: one pointed into the dark mouth of the nest, and the other pointed out into the forest. She heard muffled shouting, and several rapid shots – mostly good, encouraging signs, proof that her friends were still alive – and settled into a defensive stance, widening her hips and bending her knees. 

Then she felt an approaching presence and had only a moment’s warning with a flurry of snapping branches and twigs before a tall, blonde, pale vampire was coming at her. She fired blindly toward her target, but the woman was too fast. She was behind Harrow, wrenching her head back by her short black hair – God, Harrow really should have shaved her head again before this fight – and Harrow thought that this was really the end for her, and was briefly embarrassed by how slow she was, but instead, the vampire whispered in her ear:

“Do you know who I am?” 

“I’ll kill you, you creature,” Harrow swore, bringing her pistol up to the vampire’s head, but she laughed, batting it away like a cat with a toy. Harrow drew the silver knife from her thigh holster and stabbed the flesh behind her. An angry, pained cry – she had found purchase. The vampire released her hair and leapt back. 

“What’s going on?” Abigail’s panicked voice in her earpiece. “Harrow?” Harrow ignored her. 

“For that, I’ll kill you slower than I killed your parents,” she teased. “Little Harrowhark Nonagesimus. I’ve been watching you, and I wondered when you’d come for me.”

“What?” Harrow gasped. The blonde vampire threw back her head and laughed. 

“And you didn’t even know. I can’t believe they didn’t tell you.” 

“Tridentarius, you bitch,” Harrow said, and fired her other pistol, missing by a half as the vampire stepped lazily to the side. 

“Too slow,” she said. “You’ll never measure up to their legacy. You know they killed hundreds of us? And you come to me barely out of childhood thinking you’re strong enough and brave enough and smart enough to kill me. And you don’t even know my first name. Well, I’ve got a surprise for you – your own death.”

She ran at Harrow, breathtakingly fast, and somehow Harrow managed to slash her knife up in time to cut the vampire’s forearm as her pistol was knocked from her hand. She began to bleed sluggishly, and a few strands of her pin-straight blonde hair fell out of place over her eyes. With terrifying speed, the vampire was forcing her to her knees, claw-like hands at the back of her neck, drawing blood in small half-moons. 

“Little girl,” she laughed, “I’ve just thought of a better fate for you.” She smiled wide, revealing a mouth full of fangs. “I’m going to make you into my vampire pet, and then you’ll never die.” Faintly, Harrow could hear Palamedes and Camilla’s shouts and Magnus over the earpiece, encouraging them all to fight. As long as the battle went well inside the nest, they could come out and kill this vampire, even if it meant Harrow had to die. Even if it meant they had to put a bitten Harrow down before she resurrected and burn her body to ash. She was ready. Her head was forced lower, and her neck exposed even as she struggled against it, unarmed. 

“I want you to die and know that the name of your death is Ianthe Tridentarius, and that your God isn’t coming to save you,” Ianthe sneered, and with that, went for Harrow’s bare neck. 

Before she could even pierce the skin, however, something – or someone – huge and a blur of several colors, red-headed, descended on the both of them, with some kind of angry shout, and Ianthe Tridentarius was dealing a savage kick to Harrow’s head as she collided with the attacker, and darkness fell over her. 

Before she passed out, Harrow began to pray: _Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…_ and knew no more.


	2. Famous Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrow is rescued by a mysterious redhead after a near-deadly encounter with vampire Ianthe Tridentarius. Obligatory soup reference since apparently I am completely unable to write a fic without caretaking in the form of comforting foods.

“You took quite a hit there.” Harrow woke up to the worried voice of a stranger in an unfamiliar bedroom. “Easy, easy.” She felt someone press a cold cloth to her forehead. Her limbs were heavy, and she found that she couldn’t move. Despite her spinning head, she forced herself to open her eyes. “I’m Gideon. You should really stay lying down. That’s a really nasty head wound.” A ridiculously muscular woman was leaning over her, golden eyes looking worried, messy red hair curling over one side of her forehead. A stranger. 

“Harrowhark.” Her throat was dry, and her voice was rusty. “Where am I?” 

“Uh, my bedroom,” Gideon said, and Harrow was finally able to concentrate enough to notice that she was lying in a massive bed with several pillows propping her up, and that the walls were painted an eye-watering shade of electric blue. “In my apartment,” Gideon supplied helpfully. “Where I live.” 

Harrow’s hands flew immediately to her hips, searching for a weapon, only to find that she was wearing just her long sleeve and pants. She had been completely disarmed. Someone had even wiped the grinning skull paint off her face. Her skin felt warm and tight. 

“Hey, don’t worry, I’ve kept all your stuff together. It’s in the other room. I… kept it safe. Do you think you can sit up and drink some water?” 

“Yes,” Harrow said carefully. With trembling hands, she accepted a mug from Gideon and got a good look at the stranger for the first time.

Her immediate reaction was to feel dwarfed. Gideon was huge, larger than most people Harrow knew (although admittedly, the number of people Harrow knew was few), and muscular, and wearing a gray t-shirt with the sleeves cut off that was lightly stained with fresh blood. Probably Harrow’s fresh blood. She had a messy, short red undercut and a healthy suntan, with a light dusting of freckles in contrast to Harrow’s decidedly indoor pallor. 

“Were you the one who stopped Tridentarius from biting me? From – from killing me?” 

“Yeah, that was me,” Gideon said. “Lucky for you I got there when I did. I caught wind from my guy that there was gonna be an attack on her nest, and I figured, hey, the more the merrier. Although I didn’t really know who all was gonna be there. Didn’t realize it was your lot.” 

“I’m – my lot?” Harrow asked. 

“Yeah, hunters, Catholics, both, whatever.” 

“Oh. Thank you for saving me,” she added hurriedly.

“Oh, yeah, no worries,” Gideon said, running a hand through her hair. “I was really only there to stick it to that bitch Ianthe Tridentarius anyway.” 

“And did you succeed?” 

“Unfortunately, no. You got her pretty good with your knife, and I think I might have injured her bad enough that she ran away, or maybe she’s just cutting her losses. But you’ll be happy to know that I think your friends survived. Green Prius, right?” 

“That’s right,” Harrow said, relaxing a little. At least Camilla and Palamedes were still alive. “Did we do any damage to the nest at all?”

“Well, it was pretty hectic, I couldn’t really tell, but I think Ianthe is going to be mega-pissed. I know your lot staked at least two of hers. Not her sister, though. Just two randos. Newborns, probably.” 

“She has a sister?”

“Yeah, the sister’s the reasonable one, for a Tridentarius,” Gideon said. “Coronabeth. They’re twins, and I guess once Ianthe got turned, she turned Coronabeth, and now they’ve got a whole thing going. But Corona isn’t as savage or as vicious as Ianthe. Kind of makes me feel bad for her, in a ‘you’re a crazy bitch, but less crazy than your sister’ kind of way, you feel?” 

“How do you know so much about them?”

“Oh, like I said, I want to kill her. Ianthe’s the one who turned me. I spent a little bit of time with her nest before I decided it wasn’t for me. She took that very personally.” For the first time, Gideon smiled, showing her unnaturally long canines. Harrow started to struggle in surprise, trying to reach for something – anything – that could be a weapon, but Gideon just started to laugh. 

“Relax, you’re not gonna kill me. And you owe me for saving your life. Actually, I’m pretty much banking on you not killing me because you’re heavily concussed, and because I carried you out of there like a sack of potatoes. Which, by the way, if you’re looking to build muscle, you really should be eating more or something. You are disturbingly light for a fighter.” 

Harrow’s jaw worked for a moment, speechless. “I appreciate,” she began haltingly. “your hospitality. But I should go find my friends.” She felt herself relax unbidden as she got used to the idea that this huge, goofy, unthreatening vampire posed no threat to her. 

“You’re not going anywhere in that condition,” Gideon said. “You have a severe concussion. You need rest. Do you have their phone number or something? You can use my phone to call and tell them you’re alive.” 

“That would be great,” Harrow said with a measure of relief.

“But then you really need to sleep and eat, okay?” Gideon passed over her phone. “I’m worried about the amount of blood you lost. I’m wearing most of it,” she said unaffectedly. 

One medium-length phone call later, reassuring Abigail, Magnus, Camilla, and Palamedes in turn that she was fine, she was mostly unhurt, and that she would call again later, and Gideon was bringing her a huge mug full of hot soup. 

“Drink this whole thing,” she said. “I can tell your iron levels are low, and then you’re going to need to go back to sleep for a solid eight hours if you want to have any chance of being back on your feet in the next twenty-four.” Surprising herself, Harrow accepted the mug and took a sip. It was hot, but not hot enough to burn her.

“Wait. How did you – “

“Vampire, remember? And your blood is splattered down the front of my shirt. I can just tell. It’s like… I don’t know, how you can tell what’s in soup by smelling it.” 

“Not the best comparison to make right now,” Harrow said dryly, taking another big drink of soup. It was some kind of tomato-based broth with vegetables.

“Oh, yeah. Uh, sorry. Well, I hope you like it. I didn’t taste it. It did come out of a can, though. I don’t need to eat food.” 

“What do you eat? I don’t get the feeling you’re about to eat me.” 

“Oh! I’m a vegetarian. I mean, I guess. I don’t eat people. Vegan maybe? I’m not sure what to call it. A lot of deer. I just, uh, eating people gives me the creeps. Fuck, that came out kind of weird.” Gideon rubbed the back of her neck. “I should leave you alone to sleep. I need to change my shirt.” She rummaged around in one of the drawers of the big armoire opposite the bed and pulled out another T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, this one bright blue. “Holler if you need anything. I’ll be in the other room.”

“Thank you,” Harrow called again as Gideon turned out the lights and closed the door. The first vampire she’d ever met that she didn’t immediately, overwhelmingly want to murder. Waves of dizziness overcame her, and she fell asleep. 

-

She woke up after the sun had set, still in Gideon’s bed. Briefly disoriented, she pulled at the comforter before placing where she was, and everything came rushing back. The blonde vampire. Ianthe Tridentarius. She now knew who had killed her parents, and she knew that her best hope for vengeance was the vegetarian vampire in the other room. 

“Hey, I have more soup,” Gideon let herself into the room. “Heard your heartbeat speed up. Assumed you were probably awake. It’s close to nine PM.” 

“Weird, but okay,” Harrow said, choosing to have more soup instead of arguing. 

“So, uh, no good way to say this, but can I have your number?”

“I don’t have a phone. Why?” 

“You… don’t have a phone? It’s 2021. Who doesn’t have a phone?”

“I don’t need one,” she said. “Why do you need my phone number?” 

“Well, I figured you could use some help killing Ianthe Tridentarius, and I certainly can’t do it all on my own, so maybe you’d want to try all that again sometime.” Harrow noticed that Gideon spoke animatedly with her hands, perky in a way that she had actually never seen a human being behave. Well. Human adjacent, she corrected silently. 

“You can call Abigail and Magnus’ number if you need to speak with me. They have a landline. They’ll relay the message. My full name, in case you need it, it’s Harrowhark Nonagesimus. But you can call me Harrow.” 

“I’m Gideon, again. Gideon Nav. Can you put that in my phone, at least?” Gideon passed her phone to Harrow. It was huge, like her bed and her bedroom – at least compared to Harrow’s apartment – and her muscles, Harrow thought. How do vampires maintain muscle tone?

“Uh, odd question to ask out of the blue, but I can actually work out just like I used to. I just have to remember that I’m doing more exercise, so I need to be drinking more. My muscles work like they used to. I actually have way more control over the previously involuntary functions of my body than… before.” 

Did she really say that out loud? 

“Ah. Interesting.” Harrow pretended she had meant to ask that all along, quickly covering for herself. “I’ve never heard of that before.” 

“Yeah, neither did I. It’s actually a really cool process, and it’s completely different from humans, who need several different components from food to make it happen, and, well, I can pretty much skip the whole “need to break down and digest food” part of the muscle-building process and get right to the… sorry, I’m rambling.” Gideon cut herself off, but Harrow was listening silently, fascinated. “You’re probably thinking of about seven different ways you could kill me right now.” 

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Harrow said. 

“Again, I don’t eat people. Also, what’s your last name? For my contacts book.” 

“Nonagesimus. My full name is Harrowhark Nonagesimus.” 

“Wow, that’s kind of a mouthful,” Gideon said. “I’m Gideon Nav.”

“I’m feeling a little better now,” Harrowhark said. “I think I’m well enough to walk.” 

“That’s… not how a concussion works, but if you’re feeling up to it…” Harrow was already throwing the comforter off her legs and trying to stand. She was fine until she took her first step, when sharp nausea came over her and she dry-heaved as the room spun, stumbling, and she would have fallen face-first if Gideon hadn’t used her superhuman speed to catch and hold the tiny vampire hunter. 

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going anywhere fast,” she said. “Let’s get you back in bed.” 

“I can walk to the bus stop,” Harrow argued. “I have my bus pass in my jacket – “ 

“You couldn’t make it out my front door,” Gideon said. 

“I’m not just going to lay in your bed while my friends are out there regrouping and getting ready for the next attack. I should be there helping them,” Harrow snapped. 

“Okay, you don’t have to lay in my bed. You can lay on my couch, but I’m going to carry you so that you don’t throw up all over my furniture.” She ignored Harrow’s protests and picked her up, carrying her bridal style out to the living room. “You might be a vampire hunter, but you’re also concussed and unarmed, therefore you’re not a threat to me.” 

It turned out that Gideon’s couch was very comfortable, an old overstuffed faded gray thing that had several threadbare bits and patches and a few soft knit blankets, but Harrow would never tell her that. Despite her clearly purely academic interest, she still mistrusted the vampire because of years – generations – of hatred. Gideon didn’t seem to notice that beyond the few choice jabs about being a vampire hunter, and even those felt more like jokes than actual taunts. It was odd, Harrow thought, to be in the same room with one of the undead and not be fighting for her life. She didn’t know how to feel. 

After a few hours, the chief feeling she had was exasperation, because Gideon had barely stopped talking in response to Harrow’s sparse questions, with an eager “and if there’s anything you want to know about being a vampire, all you have to do is ask me!” 

“You said Ianthe turned you,” Harrow mentioned casually. “How did that happen?”

All of a sudden Gideon was closed off and cold. “I don’t really want to talk about Ianthe right now.” Her voice got low and menacing. “She’s a piece of shit and we’re going to kill her or die trying.” Cold sweat ran down Harrow’s back when she realized how powerful Gideon actually was despite her cheery demeanor. 

“I’m sorry,” she found herself saying. “She killed my parents.” 

After a long moment, Gideon relaxed. “I’m sorry too. I don’t like to think about her. I didn’t want to become a vampire.” 

“I can understand that.” Harrow said, fingering the delicate crucifix that sat just below the hollow of her throat. “I’m going to kill her.” 

“I know.” Gideon smiled crookedly, showing her fangs again. “And I’m going to help you.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are vampires who don't drink human blood vegetarian or vegan? Discuss.
> 
> I wanted to wait a few days and space out the chapters, but I REALLY wanted to introduce Gideon, so ... here we are. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Probably 3-4 days, at most a week, between chapters from this point forward.


	3. I Never Told You What I Do for a Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon drives Harrow home. She meets Camilla, Palamedes, Abigail, and Magnus. There is a mention of underwater basket-weaving and we learn probably more than we needed to about how vampire physiology works in my universe.

The morning dawned clear and cold, sun shining in spite of – or possibly because of – what had happened the previous day. Harrow, being an exceptionally determined person and no stranger to a little dizziness and pain, insisted on being back on her feet the next day and returning to her own apartment. “It’s just a concussion. I’ve had worse,” she said to Gideon. “I can walk to the bus stop.” 

“I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t drive you home after _saving your life,”_ Gideon snarked. 

“But it’s sunny outside,” Harrow protested. “Don’t you – “

“I don’t like the sun,” Gideon interrupted, “and it weakens me, but I don’t particularly care about being powerful right at this moment. Or really ever. It doesn’t matter to me if I’m like, super-fast or a great hunter or whatever. It’s actually shocking to me how little you know about vampires despite spending two decades as a vampire hunter raised by vampire hunters.” 

“I am an expert hunter,” Harrow said, affronted. “Up until now, the rest has been irrelevant. I am not interested in vampire anthropology any more than I’m interested in underwater basket-weaving.” 

“See, it’s funny you say that, because vampires are actually great at underwater basket-weaving, as it’s actually optional whether I breathe, so I would kick ass at underwater basket-weaving. Also, fun fact, the bends? Not a thing when you’re a vampire.”

“How do you even know that?” 

“One of the first things I did was actually jump straight off a cliff into the ocean, not in a suicidal way, but more in a ‘hey, wonder if I have any functional physical limits anymore’ way, and also I was thinking a little bit about Twilight and cliff diving, and, well, I can just swim as deep as I want. Since air isn’t an issue, and I don’t need to breathe, I can just let all the air out of my body and either avoid or not feel the effects of the nitrogen dissolution, which I am seeing now is not relevant at all to the question you were asking.” 

“I see,” said Harrow neutrally. “Twilight?”

“Oh, man, have you seen Twilight? It’s so bonkers insulting to vampires but also really useful for being like ‘Noooo, I’m not a vampire, look at me, my skin doesn’t sparkle like one of those fucking Cullens or whatever.’ We totally need to watch Twilight.”

“…why are you being so nice to me?” Harrow narrowed her eyes at Gideon. “Don’t you know that, if circumstances were different, I’d have killed you where you stood?” 

“Yeah, I know, but… I feel like we’ve got a common goal right now, and I don’t have a lot of friends, so I figured I’d just run with it.”

“I can tell.” 

“Wow, rude. I’m choosing to assume that’s the concussion talking. Positive vibes only,” Gideon said, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses out of the front pocket of her denim jacket. “I’ll be your Uber for the morning, and I can offer you one ride in a 2000 Toyota Corolla with firmly bottom-of-the-line features like a functioning heater and a 20-year-old radio.” 

“Can you just drop me off at my apartment?”

“Yeah, what’s the address?” 

“It’s at the intersection of Broad and Fifth. The building with the staircase up the side.” 

“Your wish, my command,” Gideon said as Harrow put her leather jacket back on and checked carefully for all her weapons in her bag. “I picked up everything I saw you fighting with and bundled it in your jacket. Your knife and both pistols.” 

“Doesn’t silver burn you?”

“It doesn’t burn through gloves,” Gideon said. “I was careful.”

Strangely touched, Harrow folded the top of her bag over her weapons and arranged it over her shoulder. “I’m in your debt,” she said simply. 

“That’s OK. You can just help me kill the insane vampire who killed me first and we’ll call it even,” Gideon joked, lightening the mood. “And also, your apartment is like, a 10-minute jog from here. Or maybe a 15-minute walk. Just FYI.” Harrow carefully filed that information in the back of her brain. 

They both got into Gideon’s car, which was wildly messy with various shirts (most of which had the sleeves cut off) and swimming gear, as well as what appeared to be a very large stuffed shark, several files, books, and sturdy wading boots. 

“What’s with the shark?” Harrow asked almost immediately. 

“Oh, I’m a research assistant in a marine biology lab. It was a gift from my boss.” 

“I didn’t realize you had a job.” 

“Yeah, I mean, I have a master’s degree in marine biology and a bachelor’s in biochem, and rent is still due for the undead if we want to participate in society as well as keep our cars running, so…” she trailed off. “Anyway, it could be worse. I took a bunch of time off when I was first turned. My boss was super understanding when I told her it was mono.” 

“That must have been really hard,” Harrow said, softening. Then, impulsively, “I think you should meet my friends. If you’re going to help us, that is.”

“Oh, yeah, okay, yeah, I can do that.”

“Can I borrow your phone? I should warn them.” 

“Yeah, here,” Gideon said, unlocking her phone and passing it to Harrow. Harrow took a deep breath.

“Abigail?” she whispered into the phone. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

“Harrow? Is this the girl who pulled you out of the nest and took you home? We figured…” Abigail trailed off. “We were so relieved when you called and told us you were safe.” 

“Well, yes, but you should know… she’s a vampire. Her name is Gideon. She wants to help us hunt the Tridentarius nest.”

“Oh.” A medium-length silence, just long enough to be uncomfortable. And then, “Well, we could use all the help we can get. Bring her by. Palamedes and Camilla are over right now. If you trust her…” 

“I do,” Harrow said calmly. “She’s no threat. My continued breath is proof of that. Give us ten minutes.”

“I’ll tell everyone,” Abigail said. “See you then. And Harrow… be careful.” Harrow hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. 

-

It turned out that, after a brief period of awkwardness and one minor Camilla-related narrowly avoided attack, Gideon felt right at home in the houseful of vampire hunters. Not eating people seemingly went a long way towards gaining their trust, and her strong, burning hatred for Ianthe went the rest of the way. Harrow felt a quick flash of jealousy that this person, this vampire, who had known them for thirty scant minutes, was laughing and joking with her friends in a way that she never could. 

“…and I’m definitely gonna start calling you Sex Pal,” Gideon was saying in the background, laughing with Palamedes, while Harrow sat on the couch and Camilla was standing nearby, a steadying hand on his shoulder. “How have you gone your entire life, what, like thirty years without everyone constantly making puns about your name? It’s my solemn duty now,” she joked, and although Camilla looked a little miffed, Palamedes was grinning. 

“So, Gideon, forgive me for my bluntness,” Camilla began, “but I need to know that you’re not going to. How do I say this? Rip open our throats and drink our blood.”

“Well, if I did, I’d hope you’d give me a run for my money. Being vampire hunters and all. But no, you have nothing to worry about. I don’t eat people,” she said delicately. “I’m a vegetarian. I’d like to make that crystal clear.”

Camilla relaxed, but kept her crisp posture and didn’t move her hand from Pal’s shoulder. “I’ve been caught off my guard before,” she said, and there was a small pause like she was remembering something (or someone), “and I won’t be caught off guard again.” 

“I understand,” Gideon said with an easy smile, sticking her hands in her pockets. “I don’t think Harrow would let me within five hundred feet of you if she thought I was at all dangerous. In fact, the first thing she did when she woke up concussed in my house was to feel for a weapon to try to kill me. I admire that.”

“That’s Harrowhark,” Palamedes said. “She doesn’t miss a beat.” Internally, Harrow preened a little at the praise, but didn’t let it show.

“I did what I judged to be right, but lucky for you, I was unarmed,” she said carefully. 

Magnus came out then, balancing a cheese plate with crackers, and Gideon looked wide-eyed, explaining, “Actually, when I said I was a vegetarian, I meant I only drink animal blood,” but Magnus put the tray down anyway, and everyone laughed, even Camilla, and Harrow felt very alone on the couch.

“Gideon,” Abigail began conversationally, “What do you do?” She leaned forward and crossed her legs, listening. 

“Well, I’m a lab assistant down at the aquarium, part-time, they pay really well.” 

“Oh!” Abigail exclaimed. “I didn’t realize vampires could hold jobs!” 

“Well, yeah,” Gideon said. “We don’t all hole up in fetid little nests or big, weird, decaying mansions, killing and eating people. Some of us participate in society. It’s kind of a bonus that I don’t need to sleep or eat human food. I’ve been getting really into auto repair lately.” 

“That’s so interesting. Are there others like you?” 

“Well,” Gideon hesitated. “I assume so. But… I’ve never met any.” 

“You must be lonely, then.” There was tenderness in Abigail’s eyes. 

“I keep busy,” Gideon smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What do you do?”

“I’m independently wealthy, of course,” Abigail said, “but Magnus works part-time as a historian at the local library. For fun. That’s how he and Palamedes met.” 

“How does one get into vampire hunting with one’s librarian co-workers?” asked Gideon, wide-eyed. “I can’t imagine that comes up in the break room often, like, hey, by the way, the undead are real and I hunt and kill them before they hunt and kill more people.” 

“It didn’t come up in the break room,” Palamedes said. “We met by accident on a hunt. We were tracking the same vampire. We decided it was easier to work together than separately. Camilla and Abigail agreed, and the rest – as you see it here – is history. That was about ten years ago.” 

“Like an anti-nest,” Gideon suggested. “This is so cool.” She was bubbling with questions, and the vampire hunters had just as many for her. 

Silent and forgotten for several minutes now, Harrow didn’t think anyone would notice if she slipped out quietly. Carefully, she got her bag and took the hallway the long way around to the back door, latching it with trembling fingers.

Everything from the last two days weighed on her, and she felt profoundly naked without any paint on her skin. Without looking back, she slipped out and crept the few blocks to her apartment. The cold night air bit her, but she barely noticed. 

The small studio was dark and quiet, having been abandoned for almost three days. It smelled of the dry, benign mold common in rarely used academic libraries and (faintly) of bar soap. All her thick blackout curtains were completely closed. Harrow placed her bag and weapons carefully on the large wooden table (the only table in her entire apartment) before walking directly to her bed and lying face down. She did not bother to remove her shoes or jacket. 

She wished the mouth of the earth would open up and swallow her, mortified and ashamed and exhausted and alone. Before passing unwillingly into a fitful sleep, she reached into her jacket pocket and clutched her rosary, fingers working the beads through her prayers by feel and memory. Dreams of a red-haired vampire haunted her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll probably upload chapters every second day or every third day. I hope you all like it so far!  
> Also - I have made a TLT twitter and I'm on social media now. If you'd like, my handle is @/lighterdenial there as well. My DMs are open / I will take oneshot requests if I vibe with the prompt!

**Author's Note:**

> "Fuck you, my child is completely fine" // Your child deals with the conflict between their faith and their deeply-ingrained religious trauma by writing fanfiction through several layers of religious allegory.
> 
> I grew up in the mid-2000s and I still unironically wear skeleton fingerless gloves, so the title is a My Chemical Romance lyric. 
> 
> This work is completed; I've written the whole thing, and I'll be releasing it regularly. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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